


danger in your eyes

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jesus,” Hawke mutters, glancing at the digital time piece mounted in their kitchen. Five more minutes of dawdling and there would be no point in trying to make it into the city at all. </p>
<p>“Growling at me psychically isn’t helping you whatsoever,” Sienna calls from their bedroom, her voice soft and amused through the open door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	danger in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magisterequitum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterequitum/gifts), [spyglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/gifts), [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts), [torigates](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torigates/gifts), [katayla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katayla/gifts).



> So, there's [this dress](http://amwithoutaname.tumblr.com/image/65352676944) Jordan loves, and loves for Sienna. So, here's 2k about a dress. 
> 
> For Jordan, because she's amazing. And for Jess, Katie, Tori, Grace, because duh. 
> 
> Also, look guys, I can still write things. YAY.

*

“Jesus,” Hawke mutters, glancing at the digital time piece mounted in their kitchen. Five more minutes of dawdling and there would be no point in trying to make it into the city at all. 

“Growling at me psychically isn’t helping you whatsoever,” Sienna calls from their bedroom, her voice soft and amused through the open door. 

Leaning against the wall, he kicks a booted heel up against the solid wall behind him. Her amusement spreads through him, warm and happy in his chest. She is generous with the bond, more than he sometimes thinks he deserves. When he can’t stop himself from checking in, from making sure she is all right, even when she is just a short walk away across the den, she rarely will check him. Just as she will reach out when he is out in the frontiers of SnowDancer territory, her own kind of watch; they take care of each other. 

Tonight, though, there’s a fundraiser for the foundation Anthony Kyriakus and Sascha helped fund, determined to help those Psy in the transition out of Silence, and they have to go. Pretty much everyone who is anyone in this part of California is going – human, changeling, Psy – and Hawke knows the importance of SnowDancer’s presence there. Indigo and Drew as well as Riley and Mercy are going as well, but he is the alpha, the face of the Pack. He should be there, his mate free of Silence and standing tall at his side. 

It’s not going well, getting out the door. 

“I swear to god, baby,” he mutters after another minute. 

“You are like a horde of angry bees in my head right now,” she retorts. Cinnamon and vanilla hits his nose; her new perfume. Right under his skin, the wolf curls in the scent, so like the natural touch of her skin. 

Shutting his eyes for a moment, Hawke smiles slightly. He can afford to be prickly about the little things now, with Sienna and Pack safe and sound from enemies now dead. Sure, there’s always something crazy to come up – but this is the first real chance they’ve had at some sort of normal life, and he likes it. He’s going soft, he knows. But Riley did it first, so Hawke doesn’t feel so bad. 

“Who the hell did Riley and Mercy get to babysit the pupcubs, anyway?” he asks after a moment, gaze flickering to the time once more. Three more minutes until he just goes in and gets her, dressed or not. 

“Toby and Marlee, actually. His empathy helps them, and Marlee’s just good with the young ones,” Sienna says as she walks out of the bedroom, her fingers fastening a thin gold chain around her throat. “Ready?”

Hawke pauses, raking his eyes up and down her. Her skin gleams in the simulated light, setting off the deep scarlet of her gown. He can see just the dip of her collarbones as the red silk and lace curves to her body like a second skin, the sleeves ending at her wrists. Sienna has scars from her battles that never go away; she doesn’t like anyone but Hawke seeing them. Lace follows the line of her waist, her hip. When she turns her back to him to glance at the mirror hanging in the hallway, he can see the exposed line of her spine, the span of her back warm and flushed against the red of the fabric. 

Immediately, he’s half-hard and wanting. _Fuck_.

“Hawke, we will be late,” she says, dark velvet eyes flickering to him. 

Wetting his lips, he shrugs his black suit jacket from his shoulders and lays it on the arm of the couch. “We’re not going.”

Her eyes widen, the apples of her cheeks flushed. “What?”

“You have the flu. I have the flu. Hell, Snowball has the flu,” he all but growls, walking towards her. 

Blinking, she tries to stifle the smile on her lips. “You must be kidding.”

“When do I ever kid when it comes to you?” he asks, palming her waist with his hands and pulling her close. 

Her hands fall to the collar of his black button-down, her head tipping back. She is all slow smiles and seduction as his hand slides over the curve of her ass, up to the bare small of her back. “You’re absolutely incorrigible. I shouldn’t let you get your way.”

“But you will,” he murmurs, his mouth ghosting hers. The tips of his fingers play in the exposed groove of her spine. 

She begins to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one. “Mostly because it’s my way as well. One of these days, we will be at cross-purposes.” Her voice is low and wanting, just for his ears. 

“Baby, cross-purposes is where we live,” he says with a husky laugh. His free hand slides over the intricate twist of her hair, loosening the pins. They fall to the floor as her hair slides over her shoulders and back, ruby-dark waves soft against his roughened hand. 

“Not tonight,” she says before pushing up on her toes and claiming his mouth, kissing him hard and fast. For a moment their teeth clack and then it is just warm wet and pleasure, the smooth slick of her tongue against his. 

He kisses her for a long moment, tangling his hand in her hair and pulling her close, breathing in the autumn spice of her skin, her breath. His hands fall from her just once, as she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, but then his fingers linger on the exposed skin of her back, feeling the warmth rise over her flesh. Her love for him shimmers between them, the bond strong and true. 

“This is a good dress,” he murmurs against her lips, a hand cupping her breast through the soft silk. Her nipple pebbles under his clever fingers. She moans, tipping her head back. He watches the flush of her cheeks, the spread of black in her gaze, the smudge of her deep red lipstick from his needy mouth. 

“I like it,” she breathes, voice husky. 

He edges her back against the wall, shuddering as her hands stroke over his bare chest, his abdomen. Her nails scrape along the rise of his nipples and he sucks in a breath. Her smile could light up whole rooms. 

“You can’t ever wear it in public.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she says, digging her nails into the skin near his navel. 

He leans in and bites and sucks at her jaw, nosing at the loose fall of her dark hair. The wolf is all possessive teeth and claws, edging right under his skin. “It isn’t.”

“You do not get to tell me what I can wear out,” she protests through a breathy sigh. 

His hands fist in the silky-soft skirt, dragging it up her legs and thighs. “Quiet,” he murmurs, focused and steady. He can smell her arousal, like a drug to his senses; quickly, before she can grab him, he drops to his knees. 

Her breath catches. “Hawke – “

“Shush,” he says with a quick grin, pushing her skirt up to her waist and leaning into press a kiss to her knee, the smooth skin of her thigh. “Jesus – no panties –“ he mutters, cock hard and straining against his trousers. 

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she says with a nudge to his side. One delicate hand takes the folds of her skirts from him, leaving him unimpeded. Her other hand finds his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, a soft grip he knows well. 

He rubs his jaw along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, licking the sweet spice salt of her skin. “I would have dragged you into the nearest bathroom or closet, right in the middle of all those rich fuckers,” he mutters. 

“You charmer,” she teases, a dark hitch to her breath. “Hawke – “

Two rough fingers slide between her slick folds, grazing her clit as he licks and kisses his way up one thigh. He is lost in fabric red and soft, the feel of her skin and the familiar map of her his only guide. Her fingers twist at the nape of his neck and he feels more than hears her gasp for breath. Teeth bared, he bites the crease of her hip and thigh and she squeaks under him, her hips canting towards his face. 

“Hawke, _please_ – “

With two fingers light at her clit, he moves his mouth to cover her, to lick at the salt-sweet wet of her cunt. Her thigh inches over his bare shoulder and she is all soft moans and aching breaths above him. But he hears little but the slick sound of his tongue on her flesh, the rapid beat of her heart in his ears. He teases and sucks and licks, covering her clit with his mouth and sliding two fingers into her. Her nails bite into his scalp and she moans, voice wrecked and hoarse. This, he could do everyday for the rest of his life; he loves bringing her pleasure, bringing her to an edge of relaxation and want that she gets nowhere else. Here, at his knees before her, nothing feels more right. 

She comes moaning his name, the smell of her heavy and sweet in the air. He skims a hand over her thigh and feels the tremble and sticky heat of her skin. 

When he comes out from under her skirt and rises, her hands are reaching for the belt of his trousers. “I love you,” she says with dark eyes and a flushed smile, her chest stuttering with shaky breaths. 

He kisses her then, the taste of her heavy on his mouth. She leverages herself against his chest and he takes the hint, kicking off his trousers and cupping her ass as he lifts her up against the wall. Her skirt rides up high at her waist, her thighs anchored tight against his sides. 

“You’re not wearing underwear either,” she teases with a laugh, eyes full of light. 

Moving his mouth over her jaw, he bares his teeth. “Always be prepared.”

A slim warm hand curls between their bodies around his hard cock. He hisses with the contact, biting at the fluttering pulse in her throat. “Were you planning something along these lines for the evening this whole time?” she asks curiously, even as she helps guide him inside her. 

He lifts his face to meet her gaze, smirking. The feel of her is slick and familiar, all warmth and perfection. “If it was boring as hell, fuck yes,” he says. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she says again before kissing him. Her arms slide around his shoulders, pulling him even closer, and they’re off. 

Later, showered and naked under their sheets, Hawke folds his arms under his head and nods at the wrinkled dress hanging from their closet door. “It needs dry cleaning.”

“Whose fault is that?” Sienna says mock-accusatorily, laughter in her eyes. She stretches out next to him in bed, her hair spilling everywhere, over his chest, her bare back. He loves it loose and free, just as he loves her. 

“Worth it,” he says after a moment, curling his arms around her. There are moments when he can’t bear to let her go. 

She drops a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. The bond is sure and steady, an anchor in all times and spaces. 

When Riley and Indigo ask him the next afternoon where the hell he was the night before, Hawke says _the flu_ with the straightest face he can manage. Sitting next to him, Sienna keeps her poker face intact; but inside, just for him, she’s laughing. 

Worth it, indeed.

*


End file.
